🕯️ jMeditate Wellness — v5
6 סופיות בקול הרב (מאושרות · הועלו לדרייב לפאבלו)
+ 7 חדשות לאישור. מפת כל הסדרות והמחקר:
עמוד הידע
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🕯️ Steady — Anxiety & Panic
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 15:23
🕯️ Stillwater — Blood Pressure
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 12:15
🕯️ Calm River — IBS & Gut
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 11:06
🕯️ Into His Hands — Sleep & Racing Mind
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 11:07
🕯️ Migraine Ease
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 09:45
🕯️ Beneath the Sound — Tinnitus
✅ אושר · הופק בקול הרב · 09:57
🆕 חדשות — ממתינות לאישורך
7 מדיטציות וולנס חדשות מהספרייה. הקול = טיוטת מחשב (חינם) רק לבדיקת הטקסט — ההפקה בקולך אחרי "מאשר". אפשר לערוך את הטקסט ולשלוח לי את התיקון.
🕯️ Pain Ease — Chronic Pain
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a gentle meditation for living with pain — a wellness practice, to accompany your care and ease the weight you carry. It is not medical treatment, and not a replacement for your doctor. Find a position that is as comfortable as possible for you right now — there is no right way to lie or sit. Let your eyes close, if that feels okay. And let your breath slow, on its own. Breathe in, softly… and out, a little longer, letting the body sink where it can. Again — in… and out, releasing whatever is ready to release. One more, in your own time… and out. Living with pain is tiring. Often, without meaning to, we tense the whole body against the pain — we brace, we fight it, we carry fear around it. Tonight we are not going to fight anything. We are going to learn, very gently, to set down the extra weight — the bracing, the fear — and let just the sensation be there, held in light. First, let's find the parts of you that are at ease. Bring your attention to a place in your body that feels neutral, or comfortable — perhaps your hands, or your feet, or the slow rise of your breath. Rest there for a moment. Breathe into that easeful place… and let it grow a little softer, a little warmer. This place of ease is real, too. It is always here, alongside everything else. Now, only if it feels okay, let your attention turn, softly, toward the area that hurts. You don't have to go into the center of it. Just come near, the way you'd approach something tender, with care. And notice — around the pain itself, there is usually a second layer: the tightening, the guarding, the no we hold against it. See if you can find that bracing. And now, on the out-breath, let just that bracing begin to soften. Not the pain — you don't have to change the pain at all. Only the grip around it. Breathe in, gently… and out, and let the muscles around the area loosen, just a little. Breathe again, into the edges of the sensation… and out, softening the fear that surrounds it. Research from places like the University of Massachusetts has found that when we meet pain this way — letting the sensation be there, without the layer of struggle — the suffering can ease, even when the sensation remains. So we make a little room. We stop bracing. And we breathe. Now let us bring light to the place. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. High above is the light of Hashem, holding every healing that could be. Let a fine line of that light descend, softening as it comes, until it reaches the very area that hurts. And let the light gather there — warm, patient, kind — not forcing anything, only easing, only accompanying. Breathe the light into the area… and out, letting the heaviness drain away. And now, gently, ask. Not as a demand — as a request. Hashem decides all; but He invites us to ask. So we ask, softly: Ribono shel Olam — ease this pain, and let a little of this light become real, in me. If at any moment it becomes too much, you may always return to the easeful place — the hands, the feet, the breath. You are in charge here. Rest wherever it is kind to rest. We do not promise, and we do not force. We set down the bracing, we draw the line of light, and we hope — and we trust the One who carries us, and carries what we cannot. Whatever today could measure, the light is doing its quiet work, in places no eye can see. Take one more slow breath of light into the whole body… and let yourself be held a little longer. And when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, and open your eyes. May Hashem grant you ease, and strength, and a complete refuah. Amen.
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🕯️ Breath of Life — Breathing & Oxygenation
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a gentle breathing meditation, to support your body, your breath, and the hope in your own heart. It is a wellness practice, to accompany your care — not a treatment, and not a replacement for your doctor. Find a quiet place where you won't be disturbed, and let yourself settle. Let the chair, or the bed, hold your whole weight. Let your eyes close, if that feels comfortable. And let your breath begin to slow, all on its own — there is nothing to force here. Let's take a few slow breaths together. Breathe in, gently, through the nose… and let it go, slowly, a little longer on the way out. Again — breathe in, soft and full… and out, releasing the shoulders as you do. And once more, in your own time… in… and out, letting the breath grow quiet, and even. We are not going to force the breath today. We are simply going to keep it company — and to bless it. Bring your attention now to the air as it enters. Feel it pass, cool, through the nose… down the throat… and into the chest. Picture it gently. The air travels into your lungs, into millions of tiny, soft chambers. Each one is wrapped in fine rivers of blood, and the wall between the air and the blood is thinner than a whisper. And there, quietly, with no effort at all, the breath gives its life to the blood — and the blood carries it out, to every corner of you. You do not have to make this happen. Your body already knows how. We are only turning toward it, with warm attention, and with light. Breathe in now, slowly, and follow the air all the way down… and breathe out, completely, with nothing held back. And again — in, all the way to the base of the lungs… and out, soft and long. Now bring your attention to the chest itself, and let it open. Sefer Yetzirah places a letter here, over the chest — the letter Aleph, the letter of air, the quiet breath that balances all the rest. And our sages teach that the breath — the neshima — is bound to the soul, the neshama. Each breath is, in truth, the breath of the soul. So let the next in-breath be soft, and full… and let the chest rise, slowly, like something opening to the light. Breathe the soul's breath once more… and rest. Now we draw the line of light. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. High above is the light of Hashem, holding every healing that could be. Let it descend, narrowing and softening, until it is gentle enough to enter the chest… and into the lungs, into those soft chambers, let the light gather: warm, patient, alive, supporting the quiet work your body is already doing. Breathe in the light, and the air, and the hope… and on the out-breath, let go of all that is heavy — the tightness, the worry, the day's held tension. In, with light and life… and out, with all that you release. And once more — draw the light all the way down… and let it go. Now, gently, ask. Not as a demand — as a request. Hashem decides all; but He invites us to ask. So we ask, softly, without words if you wish: Ribono shel Olam — let my breath be full, and let a little of this light become real, in me. We do not promise, and we do not force. We open the breath, we draw the line, and we hope — and we trust the One who fills the body with breath, moment after moment, in love. Rest now, and let the breath carry on without you, the way it always has — easy, faithful, alive. You do not have to direct it. Just let it breathe you. Whatever today could measure, the light is doing its quiet work, in places no eye can see. Stay here as long as you wish, breathing, and held. Take one more slow breath of light… and when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, and open your eyes. May Hashem grant you a complete refuah, and fill your days with breath, and strength, and light. Amen.
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🕯️ Body of Light — Sleep Body-Scan
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a body of light — a slow, gentle journey through the body, to carry you down into sleep, and to draw the light of Hashem into every part of you. Find a place where you won't be disturbed. Lie down, and let the bed take your whole weight. There is nowhere to be now, and nothing to do, but breathe… and rest. Let your eyes close. And let your breath begin to slow, all on its own. Breathe in, gently, through the nose… and let it go, a little longer on the way out. Again — breathe in, and feel the chest rise… and breathe out, and feel yourself sink a little deeper into the bed. One more, in your own time… in… and out, letting the day fall away. Before we begin the journey, understand what we are doing here. In the holy tongue, the word for hope — tikvah — holds within it a smaller word: kav, a line. To hope is not to lie here, empty, and wait. To hope is to draw a fine line of light down, from the Source of all life, into this very body. Tonight, part by part, slowly, we will draw that line. We force nothing. We open, and we hope. High above, beyond all imagining, is the light of Hashem — and within it, every healing, every good that could ever be. Let it begin to descend now, softening and gentling as it comes, until it is quiet enough to enter you. Bring your attention all the way down… to your feet. The right foot… and the left. Sefer Yetzirah sets a letter in each — Zayin in the right, Chet in the left — the faithful feet that carried you all through this day. Breathe down into them now… and on the out-breath, let them grow heavy, and warm, and full of quiet light. Breathe once more into the feet… and let them disappear into the softness of the bed. Let that warmth rise, slowly, into the lower legs… the calves… the shins. Breathe into them, and let them soften. Up now, into the knees… and the long muscles of the thighs. Wherever the light touches, the holding simply lets go. Breathe in… and out, and let the legs grow heavier still. Let the hips, and the whole pelvis, settle down into the bed, and rest. Breathe into them… and release. Come now to the lower back — to the two kidneys, resting deep on either side of the spine. Our sages call the kidneys the advisors — the deep inner counsel within a person; they teach that Avraham learned Torah from his own kidneys. Let a quiet Tet rest on the right, and a small bright Yud on the left. Breathe into that deep place in the low back… and let it soften, and fill with light. Now let your awareness drift up… to the belly. This is the place of water — soft, flowing, where the feelings live; Sefer Yetzirah sets the letter Mem here, and mercy, rachamim, shares its root with the womb. Rest your attention on the belly, and take a slow breath all the way down into it… and as you breathe out, let the whole belly go soft, and heavy, and warm. Breathe in once more, drawing light into this place… and out, letting it dissolve anything held here. And let all the inner organs rest — the quiet, faithful work of the body going on without any effort of yours, held every moment by the One who formed it. Just breathe… and let them be. Bring the light now to the chest. At the center of the breath is a kind of firmament within — drawing light down from above, and giving it to the body below. Let the ribs widen, slowly, and the breath deepen. Breathe in, and feel the chest open… and out, and let the shoulders melt. And the heart. Over the heart rests the first letter, Aleph — the breath of air that balances the fire of the mind above and the water of the belly below. Our tradition teaches that the heart holds the thirty-two paths of wisdom — the heart of the heavens. Breathe into the heart now, gently… and let it open, and soften, and fill with light, and with life. And remember — the breath itself, the neshima, is bound to the soul, the neshama. Each breath is, in truth, the breath of the soul. So let the next breath be the soul's own breath. Let the light flow out along the arms now. Into the right hand — the open hand of giving, the letter Heh, hineni, here I am. And the left hand — the letter Vav, the hook that joins, strength held gently. Breathe into both hands… and let them grow warm, and heavy, and completely still. Let the shoulders drop away from the ears. Let the neck grow long, and the throat soften open — a clear channel between the heart and the word. Breathe… and let it all release. And now the face. Let the jaw unhinge, just a little, and the tongue rest soft in the mouth. Let the space between the eyes grow smooth — and there, on the brow, the last letter, Tav, the seal of truth, the mark on the forehead of the righteous. Breathe into the whole head… and let it grow quiet, and luminous, and light. Rest now — a whole body of light, from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. Take a slow breath through all of it at once… and let the light settle everywhere, evenly, glowing. And now, gently, in your heart — choose. Of all that this light could bring, choose the healing, or the peace, you most long for. And ask for it — not as a demand, but as a request. Hashem decides all; but He invites us to ask. So we ask, softly, without words if you wish: Ribono shel Olam — let a little of this light become real, in me. Breathe in the light, and the hope… and breathe out everything that is not what you choose — the fear, the heaviness, the day now ending. In, with light and life… and out, with all that you release. We do not promise, and we do not force. We drew the line; we hold the hope; and we trust the One who holds us. Whatever this day could measure, the light is doing its quiet work, in places no eye can see. You are held, every moment, by Hashem, who is awake while you sleep. Let the light remain, doing its gentle work, as you drift — softly… slowly… all the way down… into rest. There is nothing left to do now. Only to breathe… and to sleep. May Hashem send you a complete refuah, and watch over your sleeping and your waking. Sleep now. Amen.
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🕯️ Rise Again — Recovery & Rehab
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a gentle meditation for a body that is healing — a wellness practice, to accompany your recovery and the care of the people looking after you. It is not medical treatment, and it does not replace your doctor or your rehab team. Find a position that is as comfortable as possible for you right now — lying or sitting, exactly as your body allows today. Let your eyes close, if that feels okay. There is nothing to accomplish here, and nothing to push. Healing is not something you force. It is something you allow. Let the breath slow, on its own. Breathe in, softly… and out, a little longer, letting the body grow heavy where it can. Again — in… and out, and let the ground, or the bed, hold your full weight. One more, in your own time… and out. There is a state the body knows how to enter — doctors at Harvard first measured it fifty years ago and called it the relaxation response. When the breath slows and the mind settles, the heart eases, the muscles let go, and the body shifts into what we might call rest and recover — the very state in which repair happens best. You don't have to make it happen. You are already beginning. Let's find the parts of you that are already well. Bring your attention to a place in your body that feels steady, or comfortable — perhaps your hands, the slow rise of your breath, the warmth of your own chest. Rest there. This part of you is strong, and it is helping. So much of you is already whole, already working, quietly, on your behalf. Now, if it feels okay, let your attention turn, softly, toward the place that is mending — the place that was hurt, or operated on, or is growing strong again. You don't need to go into the center of it. Just come near, with kindness, the way you'd sit beside someone you love who is resting. And notice if there is any bracing there — any fear, any tightening — and let the out-breath begin to soften just the grip, not the place itself. Breathe in, gently… and out, loosening the guard around the area. Now, very gently, we help the body remember its own healing. In rehabilitation, therapists have people simply imagine the movement, the mending, the return of strength — and the brain and body respond, because imagining a healthy process helps awaken it. So picture, softly, the tissue knitting, the strength returning, the part of you doing exactly what it was made to do — becoming whole again. You are not forcing it. You are welcoming it. Breathe into that place… and out, letting fresh, living blood flow toward it, carrying everything it needs. Now let us bring light to the place. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. High above is the light of Hashem, holding every healing that could be. Let a fine line of that light descend, softening as it comes, until it reaches the very place that is mending. And let the light gather there — warm, patient, alive — not forcing, only awakening the healing your body already carries within it. Breathe the light into the place… and out, letting weakness and fear drain away. And now, gently, ask. Not as a demand — as a request. Hashem decides all; but He invites us to ask, and to hope. So we ask, softly: Ribono shel Olam — renew my strength, and let this healing light become real, in me. Rest here a while, in the state of repair. This quiet is not empty time. It is the time your body uses most to rebuild — while you breathe, and trust, and let go. If at any moment it becomes too much, you may always return to the steady, well place — your hands, your breath, your chest. You are in charge here. We do not promise, and we do not force. We enter rest and recover, we picture the return of strength, we draw the line of light — and we hope, and we trust the One who heals all flesh, and does wonders. Whatever today can measure, the healing is doing its quiet work, in places no eye can see. Take one more slow breath of light into the whole body… and let yourself be held, and renewed, a little longer. And when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, and open your eyes. May Hashem renew your strength like the eagle's, and grant you a complete refuah — refuat hanefesh urefuat haguf. Amen.
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🕯️ Companion of Light — Serious Illness
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a quiet meditation to sit beside you through a hard time — a wellness practice, to bring a little calm, and a little hope, while you go through what you are going through. It is not treatment, and it does not replace your doctors — please keep leaning on their care. This is simply a place to rest, and to be held. Settle however your body is most comfortable right now. Let your eyes close, if that feels okay. You do not have to be strong here. You do not have to fix anything, or understand anything. For these few minutes, there is nothing to carry. Let the breath slow, on its own. Breathe in, softly… and out, longer, letting your shoulders come down. Again — in… and out, and let the weight of the day set itself down. One more, in your own time… and out. When the breath slows like this, the body eases its alarm. The heart softens, the tightness loosens, and the whole system quiets toward rest. It does not make the illness disappear — but it lifts some of the extra weight the fear piles on top. And under that weight, there is still you. Let's find that place in you that illness cannot touch. Bring your attention to the quiet center of your chest, where the breath rises and falls. Rest there. Whatever is happening in the body, the one who is aware of it — the soul, the neshama within you — remains whole. Untouched. Pure. Held. Breathe into that whole place… and out, and let it grow a little wider than the fear. Now, if it feels okay, let us bring light. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. High above is the light of Hashem, who holds every healing, and who holds you, exactly as you are, right now. Let a fine line of that light come down, gently, and rest over your whole body — not forcing anything, only surrounding you with warmth, and with the sense that you are not alone in this. You are not alone in this. Breathe the light in… and out, letting the fear drain down and away. And now, gently, ask — or simply lean. Not a demand — a turning of the heart. Hashem decides all; and He is close to the broken-hearted. So we turn to Him, softly, in whatever words are yours, or in none: Ribono shel Olam — be with me, ease this, and send Your healing, as far as it can go. Let hope itself be a kind of prayer. Rest here, held between the light above and the breath within. You do not have to know how the story ends to be at peace in this moment. This moment is safe. This breath is enough. If anything becomes too much, you may open your eyes, or return to the quiet center of the chest — you are always in charge here. We do not promise, and we do not force. We ease the fear, we draw the line of light, and we hope — and we trust the One who is closer to us than our own breath, and who carries what we cannot carry. Whatever today can measure, you are held, and the light is near. Take one more slow breath of light into the whole body… and let yourself be held a little longer. And when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, softly, and open your eyes when you wish. May Hashem send you and all who need it a complete healing, and hold you close, always. Amen.
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🕯️ Morning Within — Low Mood
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a gentle meditation for a heavy time — for when the light feels far away. It is a wellness practice, meant to sit beside you; it is not treatment, and it does not replace the help of a therapist, a doctor, or someone who loves you. If the heaviness is deep, or lasting, please reach out to one of them — that is strength, not weakness. For now, settle however you can, and let's just breathe together. Let your eyes close, if that feels okay. You don't have to feel better by the end of this. You don't have to feel anything in particular at all. You only have to be here, breathing — and that is already enough. Let the breath slow, on its own. Breathe in, softly… and out, longer, letting the heaviness rest on the ground instead of on you. Again — in… and out. One more, in your own time… and out. When the mind is low, it often turns in circles — the same dark thought, again and again. We are not going to argue with the thoughts tonight. We are just going to step back, half a step, and let them pass like weather — while you stay here, breathing, watching. You are not the storm. You are the sky it moves through. Now, some kindness — the kind you give so easily to everyone but yourself. If it feels okay, rest a hand on your heart. Feel the warmth of your own hand. And say inwardly, gently: This is a hard moment. Hard moments are part of being human. May I be gentle with myself, right now. Let that gentleness be real, even if the mood doesn't move. Now the smallest movement toward light. Not fixing everything — just one small turn. Bring to mind one thing, however tiny, that is still good: a breath, a person, a window, a cup of tea, the fact that you are still here, still trying. Rest your attention on that one small good thing. It doesn't cancel the dark — it just proves the light is not entirely gone. Now let us draw the light down. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. Even now, especially now, high above is the light of Hashem, whole and unbroken. Let a fine line of that light come down through the heaviness — it passes through the dark without being dimmed — until it reaches the quiet center of your chest. And let it rest there, warm and patient, a small steady flame the mood cannot put out. Breathe the light in… and out, and let it stay lit, even faintly. And now, gently, turn toward Him. You don't need the right words, or any words. Hashem is close to the broken-hearted, and does not turn away from a heavy soul. So we lean, softly: Ribono shel Olam — I can't carry this alone. Be with me, and send a little light. Let the hope itself be the prayer. Rest here a while, hand on heart, one small light lit. You have done something real by staying, by breathing, by turning toward the light even a little. That counts. That is courage. And when this is over, if the weight is still heavy, let your next small step be to tell one person, or to reach for the help you deserve. You are worth that care. We do not promise, and we do not force. We step back from the storm, we hold ourselves kindly, we light one small flame — and we hope, and we trust the One who stays close, even in the dark. You are not alone, and you are not your mood, and the light is not gone. Take one more slow breath of light into the whole body… and let yourself be held a little longer. And when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, and open your eyes when you wish. May Hashem lift the light of His face toward you, and lighten what is heavy. Amen.
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🕯️ Seed of Hope — Fertility
⏳ טיוטה לאישור
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Welcome to jMeditate. This is a gentle meditation for a tender road — for the heart that is waiting, and hoping, on the journey toward a child. It is a wellness practice, to hold your hope with you; it is not medical treatment, and it does not replace your doctors or your care. Wherever you are on this road — hoping, trying, waiting, or carrying a loss — you are welcome here, exactly as you are. Settle comfortably, and let's breathe. Let your eyes close, if that feels okay. There is nothing to achieve in these minutes, and nothing to prove. This is not one more thing to get right. It is a place to set the striving down, and simply be held. Let the breath slow, on its own. Breathe in, softly… and out, longer, letting your body soften from all the waiting. Again — in… and out, and let the shoulders come down. One more, in your own time… and out. This road can fill the body with a quiet tension — every month a held breath, every hope a bracing. When the breath slows like this, the body eases its alarm; the heart softens, and the whole system moves toward calm. It does not control what will be — but it gives your body, and your heart, a little rest from the carrying. And you deserve that rest. Let's meet the heart honestly. Whatever you feel on this road — longing, sadness, envy, weariness, a hope you're almost afraid to hope — it is allowed here. If it feels okay, rest a hand on your heart, and let the feeling be, without pushing it away or fixing it. Breathe with it. You can hold sorrow and hope in the same breath. They are not enemies. Now let us draw the light down, gently. The word for hope, tikvah, holds within it a kav — a line. High above is the light of Hashem, who holds every blessing, and holds you tenderly, right now, on this exact road. Let a fine line of that light come down, warm and soft, and rest over your whole body — over the heart, and gently over the places that carry this hope — not forcing anything, only surrounding you with warmth and life. Let the light say what words can't: you are seen, and you are not alone in this. Breathe the light in… and out, letting the tension and the fear soften. And now, gently, ask — as so many have asked before you, with tears that Heaven keeps. Not a demand, and never a bargain — a turning of the heart. Hashem decides all; and He is close, and He hears. So we ask, softly, in your own words or in none: Ribono shel Olam — You know the longing of my heart. Be with me, hold me on this road, and — if it is Your will — bless me with life. And whatever comes, stay near. Rest here a while, hand on heart, held in the light. You are more than this waiting. Your worth was never measured by it, and it is not measured by it now. You are whole, and loved, in this moment, exactly as you are. If grief rises, let it come and let it pass, like weather; you may open your eyes any time — you are always in charge here. We do not promise, and we do not force. We soften the striving, we hold sorrow and hope together, we draw the line of light — and we hope, and we trust the One who opens every gate, in His time, and holds us on the way. Your hope is not foolish, and your tears are not lost, and you are not alone. Take one more slow breath of light into the whole body… and let yourself be held a little longer. And when you are ready, let your breath bring you gently back, and open your eyes when you wish. May Hashem hear your prayer, hold you tenderly on this road, and bless you with all your heart needs. Amen.
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